


When The Moon Hits Your Eye (Like A Big Pizza Pie)

by nerddowell



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes needs new friends, Bucky punts, M/M, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, another AU that nobody asked for, the punting tour guide AU, yes that's boating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5042353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerddowell/pseuds/nerddowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Scuzza me, but you see, back in old Napoli</em>
  <br/>
  <em>That's amore!</em>
</p><p>Or, the punting/tour guide AU that nobody asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The Moon Hits Your Eye (Like A Big Pizza Pie)

**Author's Note:**

> Another case of 'write what you know' gone wild. Oops.

College - or university, as the English called it, a fact Bucky still consistently failed to remember - had finally let out for the summer. Canterbury was in the swing of the season, flowers clustered on the grassy slopes of Tyler Hill, at the top of which the college stood; from the bus stop at the edge of campus, he could see the whole town, from the cathedral to the Marlowe theatre. Even after spending a full year in Canterbury, seeing that view every morning when he got off the bus to attend lectures and seminars on campus, he never got bored. Canterbury was quiet (at least compared to Brooklyn, let alone New York in general), and the town was smallish and quaint in the way that only ancient English towns could be; encircled by stone walls, roads that made you want to tear your hair out, and a river.

The river was actually where Bucky was headed. The moment Clint had found out that Bucky had always wanted to sail, he'd found him a job down in the town centre working for a boating company. He neglected to mention, however, that Bucky wouldn't be sailing so much as punting; essentially, pushing a twenty-odd-foot long boat full of people around on the river Stour with nothing more than a long stick. But after a few months of getting to grips with steering and gliding, Bucky had become one of the main boaters and was usually running three or four tours per day around his university hours in peak season.

 He ducked inside the library bathrooms to change into his uniform, toeing off his well-loved sneakers and lacing his detested and equally beaten-up boat shoes on instead. Once his shirt collar was decrinkled (as much as was possible without an iron) and his shirt tucked in, he slung his bag back over his shoulder and made his way off-campus to work.

Clint was on the high street touting when Bucky passed. He shot him a grin and waved, and Bucky stopped to chat about the number of customers who had approached Clint before a pair of students demanded his friend's attention and Bucky checked his watch to see that he was running late. He didn't bother to hurry; the manager wasn't in today, so the 'boss' would be Natasha, who usually worked the counter booking people in and organising the tours, and the worst he'd get from her would be an eye roll and a shove towards a boatload of waiting customers.

Two of the punts were already out when he arrived, and he ducked inside the shop to find Natasha watching the clock and tapping a pen against the bookings register.

"Sorry I'm late." He kicked his bag under the racks of punt cushions at the back of the office and grabbed his license from the box on the desk. Natasha waved him off, engaged in checking the register and then the time again.

"Can you take the next one? Ten minutes?"

"Sure."

The boat was full, mostly tourists in loud tshirts with cameras slung around their necks. He smiled and waved hello as Peter, one of the trainees, came out to help with the health and safety requirements.

"Okay, guys. I'm Bucky, your engine and GPS this afternoon. C'n I just have your attention for two secs for the health and safety? Basically, I need your hands an' feet inside the ride at all times - don't want any trapped fingers between boats, or between the boat and the riverbank - and please don't stand up 'til we're gettin' out at the end. Before we get goin', we just have to take a photo; no worries, it ain't gonna be used for advertising or on Facebook or anythin', it's just a record of how many people we took out so we know how many I'm s'posed t'be bringin' back."

"Have you ever lost anyone along the way?"

"I've had a few fellas look speculative when we go past the bars," Bucky grinned, and the passengers laughed, "but I've never left anyone behind."

After Peter took the photo and Bucky verified the number of passengers, they were off. He guided the punt carefully along the river, pointing out the landmarks along the way and talking about the history of the town (and being polite to passing rowing tour guides, despite the bitter rivalry between their two respective employers). Several of the bridges made the passengers flinch at how low above their heads they were; Bucky just knelt at the stern of the punt and made shallow, careful movements with the pole to propel them through to the other side.

The tours often passed quickly for Bucky, joking along with his passengers as he guided them around the waterway. He would sing, sometimes, depending on the crowd; a couple of bars, _The River_ by Bruce Springsteen or Ben Howard's _These Waters_. He didn't have the best voice in the world, he knew, but it made the passengers smile more often than not, and it got them to leave comments in the guest book. Whenever they were about to disembark, he would grin at them cheekily and say, "Thanks for comin', guys. If you want to leave a good review in the book, my name's Bucky. If you wanna leave a bad one, it's Clint."

Clint would say the same in reverse at the end of his tours, so there was no harm done. Natasha just rolled her eyes at him from the open window, and he laughed and waved.

This evening, he was punting a group of ten, and as he showed them around, he asked them about themselves, too. He caught a couple of American accents amongst them; one belonging to a blond kid with glasses, probably around fifteen, surprisingly deep and resonant for having probably only just settled. The kid was sat with a sketchpad in his lap, pencil scratching quietly over the pages as they glided through the water. He looked up only when Bucky went under a wide tunnel bridge, cutting out most of the light. He seemed entranced, reaching up towards the stalactites on the roof before apparently remembering the 'limbs inside the boat at all times' rule and quickly lowering his hand again. Bucky chuckled softly.

The kid didn't take his eyes off the sketchbook once for the rest of the trip. Bucky had to gently step down from the stern and touch his shoulder to let him know that they were disembarking; a fond-looking brunette was waiting for him with amused eyes on the steps by the punt, shaking her head.

"Come on, Steve, or we'll be late."

"Sorry, Peggy, gimme just a moment-"

Bucky gave him a hand up, smiling and saying goodbye as they thanked him for the tour and made their way back to the town centre. He was straightening out the blankets and cushions on the seats when he saw the sketchpad, jammed down the side of the seat like an afterthought. He tugged it out and tried to chase the pair of them down the street, calling them back, but they disappeared into the crowds of tourists before he had a chance to see where they were going. He headed back to the shop instead, tucking the sketchpad into a desk drawer where it would be safe and asking Natasha to give him a five minute break for a cigarette before he headed out onto the water again.

He stepped out onto the short bridge, pulling his tobacco and papers out of his pocket and rolling up carefully. Curiosity was nagging at him, telling him to take a look inside the sketchpad, but from the way the kid had been holding it - resting on practically vertical knees, body angled towards the side of the boat, it was pretty obvious he didn't want to share his drawings with anyone. And if he came back to get it, Bucky wasn't about to lie by omission and pretend he hadn't committed that invasion of privacy. No. He was going to light up, smoke out here in peace, and wipe his mind entirely of the sketchpad's potential contents.

Natasha called him again just as he was finishing. He stubbed the cigarette out on the railings and tossed it into the trash can, heading back through the office and out to the waiting boat.

* * *

  
Touting was, by comparison, dull. Standing on the corner of the junction between the Tex-Mex restaurant and a charity shop, Bucky had The Beast with him and was holding out flyers to passers-by advertising the tours. A couple would stay and chat, actually try to find out about what he was offering; most just ignored him, or muttered a quick "No, thanks," and hurried on their way. Nevertheless, he kept his eyes peeled for tourists or students who looked like they had a lot of time on their hands now that it was summer, and mostly geared his charming smiles and friendly hellos towards them.

He grinned when the blond from his tour last week passed him in the street. He waved a flyer and called a "Hey!" to attract the kid's attention; he turned around and Bucky prefaced the conversation with, "I've got your sketchpad!" before noticing the tshirt the kid was wearing, _Straight Out Of Brooklyn_ with a big star in the middle of his chest. "Nice tshirt."

"Thanks," the guy said, smiling a little. "Um, you said you had my pad?"

"Yeah! Yeah, back at the office. Hey, if you wanna grab it, you just tell Nat at the desk that Bucky sent you to get it, and she'll hand it over." He smiled. "Did you enjoy your tour last week?"

"It was great," the kid nodded, taking one of the flyers to inspect the map on the back. "Peggy was just humouring me, really, I mean, she's from Cambridge, she's done the whole punting thing before - but I figured it was a good way to get to see the town whilst going slowly enough to sketch stuff as we pass it."

"You're an artist, then? Am I gonna want to get your autograph now, while it's cheap?"

The kid laughed. "Nah, I mean, I'm no good really, I just do it for fun, y'know? But I really enjoyed the tour. I'll probably come back sometime. When're you next doing one?"

"Well, there's probably one within the next twenty minutes or so back at the site-"

"Oh. Cool." The kid ran a hand through his tousled hair idly. "So I can grab my sketchpad and get on a boat?"

"Well, I can grab you a ticket first, if you want." Bucky pulled the tab of tickets out and clicked his pen, biting his lip. "Student, right?"

"No, an adult-"

"Student's cheaper."

"It's also a lie. I graduated this year." The kid - or, apparently, man - folded his arms, fixing Bucky with a look that told him he wasn't going to budge on this an inch. Bucky shrugged and wrote down _1x Adult_ on the ticket. He'd been tempted to put _1x Student_ anyway, but _pick your battles_ and all that.

"S'that baby face a yers."

"If I had a dollar-"

"I bet." Bucky tore the ticket off the tab and handed it to the guy. "Give that to Nat, she'll book you on a tour and take the payment. Don't forget to ask for the sketchpad."

"Yeah, thanks."

"Any time. See ya later, man." Bucky nodded at him and the guy squinted intently at the flyer through his glasses before making his way down the street behind Bucky to find the office. Bucky smiled at a couple of interested looking Asian women and offered them a flyer before engaging in his sales pitch. They ended up buying tickets (he did, after all, have cash with him in order to take payments; it was just easier to have sent the sketchbook guy along to Nat, to kill two birds with one stone), and he waved them goodbye whilst keeping an eye on the street.

Several more people came along, although it was relatively quiet for June. As the flow of people along the main street began to dwindle slightly and other businesses began closing their doors, Bucky dragged The Beast back to the office and stowed it away before complying with Natasha's request to take one last tour out. He climbed onto the boat just as Clint came back, pole in hand, with his six passengers. Bucky spotted gold hair and thick black frames bowed over a sketchpad and smiled as he said a cursory hello/goodbye to Clint and pushed off.

* * *

  
The guy came back pretty much every evening for three weeks, always - as though he had some kind of radar for it - for Bucky's last tour of the day. He'd sit with his sketchpad the whole time, and Bucky found himself mostly watching him as he punted and recited the tour spiel about buildings, monasteries, bridges, etc. It all blurred into the sound of the pole through the water and fierce concentration from the bow of the punt. It was confusing as hell, albeit somewhat flattering. Natasha kept giving him knowing looks from behind the counter, which Bucky resolutely ignored, making her roll her eyes and throw pens at him until he left the office to empty the boats and pack all the kit away.

Opening up one Friday, Bucky came pretty much face to face with the sketchbook guy as he jotted down the water flow speed in the ledger. He raised his eyebrows.

"Back _again_?"

The guy blushed and rubbed the back of his neck with a shy smile. "Can I go on a tour this early?"

"Sure, if ya want. Next boat's probably going to be about twenty minutes. That okay?"

"Can I get a private boat?"

 _At ten in the morning?_ Bucky wondered, but he nodded and said, "Sure," anyway. A lone customer booking a private tour wasn't ideal in the high season during the summer, but it was only just opening time anyway and business would still be relatively quiet until lunchtime hit. He nodded. "Lemme just book that in for you. So, private tours are forty, if that's alright..."

"Oh." The guy's face fell a little. "I... Maybe not. When's the next, um, regular tour leaving?"

"Hey," Bucky murmured, biting his lip as he glanced around to check for Nat and her supersonic ears. "Hey, if you want... if you want, I can take you out for £30 and spot the other ten myself, and take you upstream where it's quieter. Not as many buildings, but it's all wildlife and plants, and there's peace and quiet which is probably good for drawin', I dunno."

"I... No. I can't ask you to do that." The guy shook his head, biting his own lip. He clutched his pad fiercely between large, delicate-boned hands, looking at the floor.

"I don't mind. I'm bein' honest, I've not been upstream in forever and it's better puntin' practice for me anyway. Current's stronger, it's good training. Look, lemme take you for this tour and you can make it up t'me when you're famous by givin' me a drawin' or something."

The guy laughed, but nodded shyly. His eyes were shining behind his glasses, blue as the sky. Cornflowers. Bucky grinned back.

"Deal?"

"Yeah."

Bucky put him down for a private tour in five minutes and took his money, making up the other ten pounds from his own wallet. He stepped outside to ready the punt, shadowed by his passenger, and chattered idly to him as he straightened blankets and plumped cushions to make the ride as comfortable as possible.

"So I'm hearin' an American accent in there somewhere. Whereabouts in the States are you from?"

"New York. Brooklyn."

"No way! Small world. I'm a Brooklyn boy too, I just came over here for college and pretty much never left, so now I ferry other Americans around and pretend like I know everything." He laughed. "I do miss it, though. S'quiet here, especially after New York and the city that never sleeps an' all that. But I guess that's good for the creative genius types, right?"

"I ain't what anyone'd call a genius," the blond said, smiling. He stepped into the boat at Bucky's invitation, but missed the step, making the boat rock alarmingly close to the water. Bucky started humming the Hues Corporation's _Rock the Boat_ , and the blond burst out laughing, clinging onto Bucky's arms to steady himself. Bucky grinned at him and started to sing.

" _Rock the boat, don't rock the boat, baby,_  
_Rock the boat, don't tip the boat over-_ "

The blond rolled his eyes and sat himself down at the end of the punt. Bucky made sure he was settled before heading to the stern, still laughing and humming to himself.

"Sorry, sorry. So, you're from Brooklyn too? What brought you over here?"

"Army. I managed to get in eventually, and they placed me over here." He had pulled out his sketchpad and was already trickling his pencil over the page as Bucky shoved off and glided the boat slowly upstream, feeling his muscles strain to counter the current and guide the boat upstream. He nodded.

"You here for long?"

"Until they send me someplace else." He glanced up for a moment, taking the view in before looking back down at his pad as he drew.

"You wantin' commentary for this or should I just keep schtum?"

"Um... is quiet okay?"

"Wouldn't've offered otherwise. I'll just keep us goin' in the right direction then and take in the view myself."

"Sorry-"

"Nah, nah, it's fine, no worries. I'm just sayin', if you got questions I'll answer 'em but otherwise I'll let you draw in peace and quiet, yeah?"

"Thanks."

Bucky nodded and did as promised. He kept the boat moving at a slow but steady pace, warning the blond when he needed to duck bridges or avoid low-hanging branches of riverside trees and foliage. Fish swam past, darting in clusters of silver away from the boat whenever Bucky startled them with the pole, and Bucky mostly watched the guy drawing as he guided the boat gently along the river.

The guy was handsome, in a small, slender kind of way. He had strong features, especially his nose and chin, offset by the longest, thickest eyelashes Bucky had ever seen on either a man or a woman, and full lips, drawn thin and bitten red in concentration. Every so often his gaze would flicker up from the page to some spot behind Bucky before returning to the paper; Bucky was dying to know what he was drawing, but he kept his knees up and the paper hidden the whole way around the tour.

His hands were what Bucky noticed most. Large for his body, with long fingers and broad palms, smudged with graphite from the pencil and with flecks of paint hidden in the creases of his knuckles and in the L between his thumb and the rest of his hand; he was right handed, but kept his left on the edge of the boat like he wanted to trail his fingers in the water but knew he wasn't allowed. Bucky wouldn't've gotten mad or anything if he did, but he equally couldn't guarantee the absence of rats and shit in the water that could make people ill.

At the end of the tour, he helped the guy off and was about to say goodbye when the blond tore a page out of his sketchpad and passed it to him.

"Here. The drawing for the £10."

He'd drawn a mallard, a male, with bright, intelligent eyes and a head gleaming in the sunlight. There was even the glimmer of water droplets on its back; every feather had been sketched perfectly until it looked alive on the page, as though it was only pretending to be still and if he stopped looking, it would start swimming again. Bucky stared at it in wonder, absolutely floored - before turning to say thank you and finding that the blond had disappeared whilst he was admiring the drawing. There was a signature in the corner, however, along with a small note:

 _To Bucky. Pulled a fast one, and now you can't sell it when I'm famous because it's already dedicated to you._  
_SR, 2015_

Bucky grinned, shaking his head, and took the drawing inside to pin it on the board before commencing his proper tour duties for the day.

* * *

  
The guy came back the next morning for another private tour. Bucky, who was on the book for Natasha's day off, raised his eyebrows when he produced the full forty from his wallet, looking mildly saddened by the prospect of parting with so much money. Nevertheless, he took it and wrote out a ticket for a private tour leaving in ten minutes with Clint, and the blond took it before looking outside at Clint readying the punt.

"Is... is it not you this time?"

Bucky shot him a quizzical look. "'S that what you were after?"

"I... No," the guy said quickly, defensive, but he was blushing fiercely and he was struggling to keep the disappointed frown off his brow. "I don't mind who takes me."

Bucky paused for a moment, frowning slightly, but shook it off. "Okay, so Clint'll take you upstream again-"

"Okay." He turned around quickly and headed outside, leaving Bucky behind feeling distinctly as though he were being evaded before he shrugged and got back to work.

In Natasha's absence, Bucky kept himself busy (or, more accurately, distracted from thinking about the blond guy and his reaction to Clint's tour) with the book, organising everyone else's tours and checking people in for the punts leaving at ten minute intervals. Peter went out for a training session with Bruce, who was probably the most patient of all of the other main punters bar the one incident when 'the other guy' came out. Anger management counselling had helped a little, but there were still customers who flinched to see Bruce in charge of a punt and asked to change tours. There'd been no shunts for years, though, and Bucky still stood by the opinion that the rowing tour guide, Tony, fucking well deserved it.

Thor was busy loading his own punt for a town tour, with his brother standing at the other end to either offer commentary so Thor could focus on punting or cause havoc (with Loki, it was always a coin toss, depending entirely on his mood upon boarding the punt), and Maria was going through the safety checks with him. Beside Bucky, Pietro was filling out paperwork to apply for his boatman's license and entertaining his sister Wanda, who was talking about her own summer job whilst toying with the straw in her Starbucks.

Bucky was listening to their conversation with half an ear when Clint came in, having completed his tour with the blond artist. He was frowning as he pulled Bucky to one side and cocked his head towards the punt, where the blond guy was hanging around on the steps fidgeting with the pages of his sketchpad.

"He always quiet?"

"Yeah, usually. I mean, sometimes he asks questions or I kinda do the whole small talk thing as we set off just t'ease us into it but... yeah, he's real quiet."

"He didn't say a word to me the whole tour. He didn't even open the book. Just sat and looked sorry for himself, like I kicked his dog or somethin'."

Bucky's eyes widened. "Oh. Nah, that's... that's not like him. He's usually got his book open, y'know, drawin', and he'll ask if I can budge just this way or that way so he can see whatever it is he's tryin'a get down. He's not chatty, but he's... there, y'know, engaged."

"I'm gonna be blunt," Clint said, raising his eyebrows, "I don't think it was _me_ he wanted there."

"He... did seem... disappointed," Bucky mumbled, glancing at the window to see the blond staring at the hanging willow branches on the other side of the river, "when I told him I wasn't runnin' it today."

"You're a moron, Yasha," Wanda offered (Natasha was evidently rubbing off on her), taking a slurp from her drink, "he's interested."

"Well, if the tours bored him stupid, he wouldn't be here, would he?"

"Not in the _tours_." She rolled her eyes, heavily outlined in kohl, and shot Pietro an incredulous look. He just smirked up at Bucky before shrugging and turning his attention back to his paperwork, chewing the end of the pen as he tried to remember which address he and Wanda had given the council this time as their permanent home residence. "In _you_ ," she continued, and slurped from her drink again as if to punctuate the sentence.

Bucky stared at her. "Nah. Can't be."

"Is this you fishing for compliments again? Because I'm your manager, not your fawning groupie," Natasha interjected smoothly as she walked through the front door, getting him in a casual headlock and scrubbing her knuckles over his head. "I'm not going to inflate your ego any more than it already is, or your head'll get so big it'll sink the punt."

"Ha fuckin' ha," he retorted sarcastically, glowering at her.

Natasha just smiled sweetly at him before turning to the others, all business now. "Pietro, you're down for touting today. Can you take the trolley out? You know where to go. Tickets and everything are already on it. Clint, you've got a tour in-" she checked the book and then the clock, "-two minutes, skedaddle. Wanda, stay here and gang up on James with me."

"I don't need you two interferin' in my love life-"

"What love life?" Natasha smirked, raising one perfect eyebrow. "You've had approximately zero actual dates since we broke up and that was at the end of your first season. Three years ago."

"I don't need-"

"He's interested." Wanda insisted. "Go make moon eyes at him over a punt."

"Sing _That's Amore_ ," Natasha suggested, smirk widening. "It's a classic. Bound to work."

"I'm not a gondolier!" Bucky yelled back as he stomped outside, "And I hate you both!"

" _In Napoli, where love is king -_  
_Where boy meets girl, here's what they say_ -"

" ** _NOT A BLOODY GONDOLIER!_** "

* * *

  
There was a mist on the river when Bucky arrived for his next morning shift. He'd deliberately organised things so that he wouldn't be in on the mornings for the past two weeks at least - too chicken to admit to Nat and Wanda (through Pietro) that he's avoiding the blond guy and his infatuation - but eventually Nat had gotten wise and forced him to stop fixing the rota. He was trying to slip unnoticed through the door, sure that nobody would be by, especially at half past eight - an hour and a half before the official opening time - but the stars were not portentous that morning. A familiar golden head and skinny frame was settled on the steps, doodling in a familiar sketchpad, and he cursed quietly to himself before opening the door and bracing himself for the ring of the bell gaining the guy's attention.

He didn't turn around, so Bucky slipped inside quickly and shut the door hard, leaning against the glass and taking a deep breath. He was fully aware of how stupid he was being; Natasha and Wanda, after all, reminded him several times a day. As tempting as hiding in the kit room all day was, he had to unlock the boats and get them prepared for the first tours of the day, so he steeled himself and headed outside.

The guy had gone. Instead, the brunette from the first tour was standing there, in a neat fifties style dress and carefully curled hair, gazing calmly at him with alert brown eyes.

"Hello. I'm here for a tour?"

Bucky made a deeply inelegant 'erkh' noise before clearing his throat and starting again. "Um, sorry, we're, uh, we're not open jus' yet. Ten's the official opening time."

"Yes, but I was rather hoping to get a quick tour in before... before that, if possible. If not, I can talk to you inside. That's what I'm here for, more honestly. I'd like to talk to you."

Bucky warred inwardly with himself for a moment before sighing heavily.

"Gimme two minutes."

* * *

  
She got right to the point, he'd give her that.

"I assume you've noticed that Steve has been coming by rather frequently over the past few weeks?"

"I guess," Bucky nodded, keeping his eyes very deliberately on the river as he dug the pole into the riverbed, pushing far harder than was strictly necessary and having to do a very quick turn in order to avoid crashing into the riverbank. He cursed under his breath and tried to take a deep breath and relax, feeling uncomfortably flustered. As much as he had suspected that this would be about - Steve, was it? - he still hadn't quite been ready for the topic to come up.

"Are you aware of why?"

"My coworkers - well, my boss - has," he swallowed, "suspicions."

"And those are?"

"Mos'ly along the lines of 'when're you gonna put the poor guy outta his misery and either ask him out or turn him down nice'."

"I see." She watched Bucky with patient brown eyes, her gaze gentle but with a hint of steel beneath. "And your answer is?"

"You his wingman? Wingma'am?"

"Oh yes, very good. Deflecting the situation with humour." She rolled her eyes. "Steve does that too, although usually more of the self-deprecating sort. I'm not here to ask you out for him; I quite agree that he has to 'man up', if you'll excuse the somewhat sexist phrasing, and do it himself. I'm simply here for the pleasure of a boat ride up into the countryside and, I suppose, to vet you a little before he goes throwing himself headlong into another situation where he'll get his heart broken or worse."

"His - wait, what d'you mean, 'or worse'? What kinda person you think I am?"

"It's not what I think you are, it's the fact that Steve has the tendency to choose people who are all wrong for him. Myself included." She sighed.

Bucky stopped punting and allowed the boat to drift for a moment. "I ain't gonna hurt him. 'Least, not if I can help it." He thought about that drawing, the duck sketched in minute detail, the effort that must have gone into getting every last detail absolutely perfect... thought about the broad hands with their long, tapering fingers, the gleam of the sun off golden hair, and the cast of thick eyelashes over the blond's cheekbones. Bucky felt his own cheeks rapidly heat and looked away awkwardly.

"Good." She was smiling at him. "But... if you do turn him down, please do try to do it gently. I'll admit I don't think that that's what you're going to do, but I've been wrong before."

"He's just... I dunno, he came on a little strong, maybe. Bein' here every day."

"Steve has the heart of a lion, and of gold. He doesn't do things by halves." She smiled fondly, picking a flower from one of the bushes lining the riverbank. She twirled it in her fingertips as she continued. "I don't think he's quite realised that that's why he's here yet, either. He genuinely does enjoy the punting and I think the calm and the quiet do wonders for him whilst he's trying to draw. But it's rare that he finds someone who sets him at ease enough to do that. You're quite the miracle worker in that regard."

"So... he's really only been comin' for the tours?" Bucky struggled to keep the disappointment out of his voice, and she flashed him a knowing smirk, eyes dancing.

"Yes. Well, yes and no, but you should see the artwork that's been coming out of it. I believe there's some in your office."

"Yeah, he drew me a duck the first time I took him out in the morning."

"He's... I suppose I just want to see him with someone who appreciates him." She glanced up at Bucky sadly. "Because goodness knows there's few enough people who do."

"Well," Bucky said, far more bravely than he felt, "he's bound to be back later. I'm sure I can manage another private tour today."

* * *

  
Sure enough, Steve (Bucky assumed that was the blond guy's name, unless the brunette from this morning was talking about a completely different artist who'd been coming to every one of Bucky's evening tours for literally the past month) came back at five o'clock that evening, towards the tail end of another full boatload of passengers. Bucky took one glance at Nat - pleading with her to do him a favour, which he could see she was about to refuse until she caught sight of Steve through the window - and she handed him a ticket for a private tour at six o'clock that evening.

Bucky made his way outside and said a quiet hello to Steve, drawing him off to one side.

"Hey. So, I figured you were probably here for another tour, and I've - well, my boss - has hooked you up with a private at six. If you wanna wait here that's fine, if not-"

"Is... Here's okay?"

"Yeah. C'mon, come into the office, actually. Come to the dark side. We have air con."

Steve chuckled and nodded. "Thanks."

"Sure."

The hour passed in a tense silence, Bucky and Steve both visibly bundles of nerves, Natasha trying to bite her tongue and calming the pair of them down with glasses of water and gentle prompts at conversation. Eventually, when the clock hit six and Clint came in to collect his gear for the last tour he was running that day, Natasha handed Bucky the spare set of keys so he would be able to close up after hours and wished him a very soft 'Good luck'. She gave he and Steve a little privacy by following Clint out to his punt, ostensibly for retraining purposes, but both Bucky and Clint saw through it in a heartbeat. Clint gave Bucky a thumbs-up through the window and pushed off with passengers and Natasha firmly onboard.

"So," Bucky said gently, breaking the silence, "shall we head off?"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." Steve followed him on wobbly legs, and Bucky helped him into the punt carefully, allowing Steve to support himself on his arm as he stepped off the stair and into the bottom of the boat. Bucky had arranged the boat to have extra blankets and hot water bottles, just in case they stayed out very late - who knew what was going to happen, honestly - and untied the knot at the downstream end of the punt, allowing them to swing out into the river slightly to have enough room to push off.

The journey up until the edges of Canterbury began turning into the countryside was silent. Steve didn't open his sketchpad, instead fidgeting and wringing his hands awkwardly from his perch at the bow of the boat. Bucky kept his eye on the river, guiding them slowly and surely away from prying eyes and ears before tying them up (technically illegally) to a tree in a secluded oxbow of water around the island at the top of the tour route. Steve was whey-pale at this point, sweating bullets; Bucky settled himself beside him on the seat and laid a gentle hand on his knee, making him jump.

"Hey. Relax. We're all good."

"Peggy said she dropped by this morning." He sounded terrified by that prospect.

"She did, yeah. We went on a tour and she had a little chat with me."

"About me, right?"

"Not really. Mos'ly about me and whether my intentions are, y'know, honourable." He gave Steve a crooked grin, and was relieved to receive the tiniest upturning in the corners of the blond's mouth in response.

"And are they?"

"Mostly." He grinned briefly before his expression turned serious again. "But I mean honestly, I... Y'know what, why don't you talk first?"

Steve took a deep breath. "Okay. First 'f all, I'm sorry about actin' like such a creep and kinda stalkin' you at work for a couple of weeks. Honest, I didn't mean t'freak you out but if someone'd done that to me it probably would've scared me so I apologise for that. Second, I... would really like to ask you out to dinner sometime, but if you don't wanna then that's okay, I totally understand, and forget I ever asked. Also, I guess thirdly, everything Peggy probably told you about me is an absolute lie. What did she tell you about me, by the way?"

"That's... It did kinda freak me out a little, but mostly only because you somehow seemed to know every time that it was me doin' those tours in the evening. We ain't on schedules, it's kinda come as you are, so it was impressive. Also, I would definitely be up for getting dinner with you sometime. A date. And my Ma says I'm a human trashcan, so anywhere and any kinda food is fine, I'll probably eat it. And," Bucky grinned, "don't worry. It was only the good stuff."

"Oh, thank God," Steve sighed, laughing quietly in relief, and Bucky knocked his shoulder into the blond's gently with a smile. The sun was beginning to come down, slowly, as Bucky reached for Steve's hand, resting between them on the seat cushion.

Steve watched with wide eyes as he carefully laced their fingers together, feeling the smoothness of Steve's palms against his own punting calluses, and he rubbed his thumb gently over Steve's, watching his face. The awestruck expression in his blue eyes didn't change as he slowly shifted his gaze to meet Bucky's.

Bucky smiled and slowly leaned in, head tilting slightly as he ran the thumb of his other hand along Steve's jaw. Steve's eyes fluttered to half-mast and his soft smile fell into a slightly open-mouthed expression of pure longing as Bucky inched closer and closer, until he could feel Steve's soft, rapid breathing against his lips. The whimper Steve produced when their mouths touched was the sweetest he'd ever heard, deepening into a throaty moan as Bucky cupped the back of his neck and drew him in deeper, tongue brushing Steve's lightly. They kissed gently, light as air and tender, but full of promise; Steve's hand tightened around Bucky's and Bucky smiled into the kiss, rubbing Steve's jaw fondly.

They broke apart when they heard another boat gliding quietly through the water, only to see Natasha, Clint, Wanda and Pietro on board with a stereo and matching shit-eating grins. Bucky barely managed a "Guys, _no_ -"

Before _That's Amore_ started playing and Steve began to laugh. Bucky shot them a glare, each in turn.

" _Not. A bloody. Gondolier!_ "

**Author's Note:**

> Punting lingo you may have missed:
> 
>  **The Beast** : An enormous advertising trolley that weighs quite possibly a literal tonne. It's so dang heavy.
> 
>  **Punt** : 1. (noun) (Obviously) the boat itself. Similar to a gondola (hence the constant jokes with Bucky), only squared off at both ends, and steered/driven with a pole, instead of an oar. (Tough work, folks. Very tough.)  
> 2\. (verb) The action of using the punting pole to drive the boat.
> 
>  **Touting:** Basically, sales.
> 
> So this came about because I have a new job, working for a company where I am basically learning to punt so that I can help run the tours. It's fun, but incredibly strenuous. Twenty foot boat, loaded with (usually) between 8 and 12 people, with only you and a very long stick to drive it... it's tough. And I absolutely love it, because I'm odd like that.
> 
> Ugh, I get the feeling that Steve was so OOC in this and... ew. Sorry, folks.


End file.
